


Thank You Very Much Oh, Mister Roboto

by fiacresgirl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4508019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiacresgirl/pseuds/fiacresgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity has to say goodbye to her beloved cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You Very Much Oh, Mister Roboto

**Author's Note:**

> I had to say goodbye to my coonhound, Ruby, today. Such a hard, hard thing to do. I couldn't give Felicity a dog, though, because you can't have a dog and keep getting kidnapped or jetting off to rescue people. It just doesn't work. This is set before 3x20.
> 
> This one's for my baby Rubenheimer. RIP, lovely girl with the soft, soft ears.

Oliver’s cell phone rang, and he answered immediately.  “What’s up?” he asked. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he thought Felicity had taken a personal day today, but maybe there was some kind of emergency disaster to be headed off at the pass.

Her voice was shaky on the other end. She sounded like she’d been crying. “Can you come?” she asked. “I need you.”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Sure. Where are you?” He’d put her through a lot in the past six months, and there had been plenty of reasons for her to cry, but he thought they’d come to terms in the last couple of weeks. Something else must be wrong.

“Home,” she said. “I’m at home. Just come when you can.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said and hung up.

 

>>\--->

 

When she opened the door to her apartment, he knew something was terribly wrong. She was dressed in pajama bottoms and an old gray sweatshirt, and her face was red and splotchy. Her hair was looped up on top of her head in a messy bun, but a big hank had fallen out and hung down the side of her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s Robbie,” she said, sniffing. “I’ve got to take him in about an hour, and I thought I’d be able to do this by myself, but I can’t...I can’t seem…”

“Robbie,” he said. “Your cat?”

She nodded. “He has cancer. Well, we think he has cancer. He’s been coughing and hacking for a month, and the vet found a large lesion on his lung two weeks ago. I’ve had him on pain meds, and he was doing really well. I thought I had more time with him. But then last week he started limping and wouldn’t eat, and two days ago he could barely stand up and wouldn’t eat or drink. He’s breathing fast and shallow. I called the vet yesterday and made an appointment.”

“An appointment?”

“To put him to sleep. It’s not much of a procedure. They’ll just give him a shot, and he’ll go to sleep. I thought that I could handle it, no problem, but now it’s almost time to take him, and I can’t. I can’t do it. I know he’s suffering, but…”

“What about Palmer?” Oliver asked. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

She shook her head firmly. “Robbie doesn’t like him. Ray tried to befriend him, but he’s not really a cat person, and Robbie is very territorial about me.”

“Still,” Oliver said. “Robbie’s like your family. He should be here. Did you tell Palmer about Cooper? About the time when he --”

“I didn’t ask him to come, Oliver.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, and he tried not to feel pleasure considering the situation and Felicity’s state of mind, but it was hard. She hadn’t even _asked_ Palmer. He’d reexamine exactly what that meant later. For now he said, “Okay, well, what do you need? Do you want me to take Robbie and you can drive? Or I can drive - whatever you want.”

“I think...I think I’d like to hold him on the way there,” she said. “If you’ll drive. I know my car’s not comfortable for you.”

“We’ll make it work. You’ll have to give me directions to the vet’s.”

“That’d be good,” she said, “I’ll punch it in on my GPS too, in case I get...distracted.”

He tilted his head at her. “Can I come in?”

“Oh!” she said. “Yes, sure. I’m sorry. Come in.” She pulled open the door all the way and gestured to her living room. It was a bit of a wreck with empty takeout boxes, prescription pill containers, cat toys, and towels everywhere. A laptop was open to Pet MD.

“How long does it take to get there?” he asked.

“About twenty minutes,” she said.

“Then we’re on a schedule,” he said. “You need to hop in the shower and get some regular clothes on. Have you eaten?”

“I had coffee, I think.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” he said. “Coffee’s not going to cut it.”

Felicity turned towards her kitchen and went towards a cupboard. She pulled out a plate, and then looked over at Robbie. She wandered over towards the fridge, opened it, and stood looking inside. Finally, her shoulders hunched. “I …” she said, looking at Oliver.

Oliver walked over to her and took the plate and set it on the counter. “I’ll make you a sandwich,” he said. “You go wash up. Robbie’ll be okay. I’ll watch him. Go on.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “Thanks,” she said and walked down the hall towards her bathroom. After a minute he heard the shower turn on.

Oliver spend five minutes putting together that sandwich from the little he could find in her fridge. There was no meat, so he scrounged around and found a can of tuna fish and mixed it with some mayonnaise and some dried onion flakes he found in her spice rack. There was a pickle in her fridge and a cup of Greek yogurt. He pulled out a Diet Coke and popped the tab. Then he set a place at the table for one. He heard the shower shut off.

Robbie was lying on her couch, and, as Felicity had said, his breathing was definitely abnormal. When Oliver padded over, he didn’t even lift his head. “Hey, buddy,” Oliver said, squatting next to him. “Tough times, huh? I hear you.”

Robbie kept staring straight ahead. There appeared to be nothing left of the cat who had attacked him when he’d come by last summer to check on Felicity and found her gone. Kidnapped for weeks. They’d made their peace, though, when Oliver had kept feeding him in her absence. The cat was okay.

Felicity reappeared dressed in leggings and a long pink t-shirt. Her wet hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. He pointed at the sandwich on the table. “We’ve got ten minutes,” he said. “And I want to see you make that disappear. Robbie and I will chill here.”

For a second she looked like she might start crying again, but she the she nodded, bit her lip, and went and sat down at the kitchen table.

 

>>\--->

 

Oliver smoothly guided her Mini Cooper through Starling City’s downtown, and Felicity cuddled Robbie on her lap. He was breathing hard and moaning, and when she tried to pet him, he batted her hand away. She could feel all of his ribs underneath her fingertips; he seemed to be losing weight by the minute. So she closed her eyes and thought of the first time she’d seen him.

Felicity spotted Robbie on Petfinder the night before midterms her junior year at MIT. She’d been studying without a break for days and coding for weeks before that, so she took a little siesta, hit Catster, watched a few funny cat vids on YouTube, and then somehow she was looking at this gorgeous leonine Maine Coon, reading his About Me, and Googling how far away she’d have to travel to meet him at Lots of Love Cat Rescue in Essex County.

It was kind of far, especially considering her tight schedule, but when she fell asleep that night she dreamed she was lying against a great expanse of golden lion fur. The owner of this fur was powerful and intense. She felt the muscles in his side flex as she tilted to look at him, but he purred and preened when she put her hand on his cheek and petted him there. He was as warm and welcoming as mid winter in Massachusetts was cold and bleak. When she woke up, she sent an email to Lots of Love asking for a chance to meet Mr. Roboto. She printed his picture and taped it to her mirror for luck, and when she aced all three of her exams, she gave herself permission to take a Saturday morning off and go see him.

When the cat rescue volunteer - a woman with pink hair and a Monroe piercing - brought Mr. Roboto into the Meet and Greet Room, she knew she’d found her spirit animal. Mr. Roboto was a ridiculous name, and she didn’t know if she could get behind a song with this passage:

The problem's plain to see:

Too much technology

Machines to save our lives.

Machines dehumanize.

Her whole life, her whole future, revolved around those dehumanizing computers, after all.

Mr. Roboto himself was gorgeous, though. He had thick variegated fur with streaks of gray, white, tan, and bits of orange, and his ears were tipped with tufts of black fur. His jade green eyes had long vertical pupils, and there was a certain insouciance about him that appealed to her. This cat was a rule breaker. This cat lived outside the limits. She had to have him. She filled out the application and was able to bring him home the same day as he’d already been neutered and had all of his shots. She would be his fourth owner. Or maybe his fifth; it was complicated.

Felicity was hesitant to change his name because he’d already had so many. She tried out calling him plain Mister, but it didn’t suit and he wouldn’t come to it. Eventually she settled on Robbie, which wasn’t really regal enough for him, but was easy enough to say. When he was being particularly impossible, she called him Your Majesty, my liege, King Robert. He seemed to like that.

Robbie was a magnificent looking bastard. Everyone said so. It took her about two days to realize why he’d had so many owners: he was a gigantic pain in the ass. He talked all the time, yowling, yodeling, expressing every feline thought he had vocally. He was fiercely nocturnal and would pace restlessly about the apartment if she didn’t let him out at night. He was a skilled hunter and brought his kills to her as tribute. What was she supposed to do with dead moles and birds? Her furniture remained college quality long after she’d graduated because anything she brought in had to be cat friendly and Robbie approved. He shredded anything else.

He stole food. All the food. Nothing she left out went unmolested. Ever. He’d cry at her doorway at night if she closed it, but bat her awake in the early hours if she didn’t.  When she wanted to snuggle him on the couch and watch Netflix, he would wander off. If she brought him back, he’d look at her as if to say, “I’m sorry, but there are wool balls in the dryer, and I cannot rest until I know they are safe.” He had a dozen such excuses.

Robbie’s absolute favorite trick was lounging about on his back on her keyboard, preening, attempting to distract her attention when she was working, especially when she had the most pressing projects to finish. He destroyed two of them. At such times Felicity would mutter under her breath, “Pets are not disposable. Cats are not disposable.”

And yet, when Cooper “died,” - and Robbie had hated Cooper - he slept beside her every single night. All of those cold, empty days, he snuggled in her lap and groomed her hands with his sandpaper tongue. If she stayed too long in bed, crying, he would come and nudge and nag her to get up and feed him. He made up silly routines with his toys, seemingly for her amusement alone.

His fur was so soft. Petting his head was much better therapy than the counselor the university had made her see after Cooper was arrested and convicted. And faked his own death.

The car stopped and Felicity opened her eyes.

“We’re here,” Oliver said. “Are you ready?”

She wasn’t ready. She would never be ready to say goodbye to His Majesty, King Robert, her fur friend. Maybe it wasn’t time yet. He might have a little more life in him. She opened her mouth to tell Oliver she'd changed her mind.

Oliver was watching her with his soft blue eyes. “He’s miserable,” he said and pressed her hand. “It’s time. You can do this.”

She swallowed and gave a small nod.

 

>>\--->

 

The needle entered in slow motion.

“It’s just the sedative,” the veterinary assistant said. “Cats don’t like to be restrained.”

Robbie lay on the counter, and she couldn’t believe this was how it was going to end for him. After all of those nights he’d been out hunting and came home all torn up and proud of himself, he was going to die of euthanasia on a formica counter. Because stupid lung cancer had brought him down. How did cats even get lung cancer? He was a bad boy, her Robbie, but she was pretty sure he’d never smoked.

“Okay?” Dr. Phelps asked.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t okay. But she leaned over and kissed Robbie’s soft head one last time, putting all the love she had for him in her lips. “We had a real adventure together, didn’t we, King Robert? I don’t regret a single moment, not even that unfortunate incident with my tablet. We’ll call it even. You were worth it, so worth it. Thanks for taking care of me after Cooper…” She glanced over her shoulder. “And lately. You’re the best fur baby I could have ever asked for. Close your eyes now. I’ll see you later.”

The vet slid the needle in the shaved patch on his front paw, and the liquid in the syringe slowly emptied. After a minute, Robbie’s eyes lost their sight, his head lolled on the table, and he was gone. Everything that had made him vital and larger than life - it blinked out, and there were four souls in the room now, instead of five.

She felt Oliver’s hand touch her shoulder, and she turned, buried her face in his chest, and wept.

 


End file.
